Chapter XII (1)

1840-1842

_Miss Eden to Mr. C. Greville._

BARRACKPORE, _March 13, 1840_.

MY DEAR MR. GREVILLE, I give it up; I succumb; I see clearly I was all wrong; generally am, quite mistaken, very sorry, very stupid, etc. But you and every friend I have will do me the justice to say that since the first year we passed here I have mentioned openly that I was regularly twaddling, that I hardly remembered a proper name, and _never_ knew what was meant for jest or earnest. I have written it home twenty times, and it is not a complaint peculiar to me, but common to everybody who has passed a hot season or two in India. Their brains are fairly stewed down into a harmless jelly; and it is a merciful dispensation that, as they have not bodily strength to laugh at a joke, they have not wit left to understand one. I still think that your irony was too fine even for England--I mean, I might have been puzzled there; here, of course, I took it all _au pied de la lettre_. I should not have minded it so much, if just at the moment when George had hazarded himself in a line that must have ended in success or in impeachment, he had not been turned upon by almost all the Indian authorities, and every paper without exception. I did not care for their opinions, wretched little buzzings of Indian mosquitoes, but when an imposing English hornet came down upon me with the same small Toryisms, as I thought, I could not stand it. However, I see it all clearly now, so let us make it up. “Hostess, I forgive thee: look to thy servants. Wash thy face. Come, thou must not be in this humour with me.”

I rather expect the next overland may bring out a copy of William’s book; it is just the sort of thing which will make a great sensation here. Everybody makes a point of fainting away if their names are mentioned in the public prints; they have simple hysterics if they are merely mentioned in a list of passengers by a steamer, etc.; but if their names are coupled with a comment on their conduct or promotion, they fall into a dream. Therefore a book upon a subject that may be connected with politics, by a Military Secretary to the Governor-General, will be too much for their nerves. I depend upon your Preface for annihilating them. We are really looking to it with great anxiety, and considerable prospect of amusement. The papers will wrangle for a month if you have made any mistake as to the various members of the Singh family, of which they know nothing themselves. Then _the_ Prinsep,[482] who wrote a book about Runjeet, which you have probably made use of, is now a Member of Council, the greatest bore Providence ever created, and so contradictory that he will not let anybody agree or differ with him. If you have made any use of his book, I mean solemnly to assert that I _know_ from the best authority you have never heard of it or him, that it was a great pity you had not, etc.

Your friendship with Mary [Drummond] is certainly rather funny, but once begun, I think it will go on progressing. Please to let me know if you see the slightest inkling of a flirtation for either of the girls. They are the greatest dears I know, and though I had rather they should not marry till next year, that I may be by to approve, still I should like to hear of it too.

We came up here this week to see if it were cooler than Calcutta (vain idea!), and to receive the visits of the station, which, as there are eight regiments at Barrackpore, were numerous and dull. We had two hours of fat generals and yellow brigadiers clanking in and out of the room yesterday; but one visit was rather amusing. The lady was like Caroline Elliot in her young days; married to come out here; landed a month ago; is in perfect horror at India; and evidently the poor husband has lost any charm he ever might have had by his guilt in inveigling her out here. I asked if she had got into her own house yet. “I have not seen a house at Barrackpore. Tweddell has taken a barn for me, but I am not in my own barn yet.” “Have you found a good Ayah? She would help you.” “I have got some black things Tweddell calls servants. I do not understand a word they say.” She said she went to bed immediately after dinner, and I asked if she dined late. “How can I tell? There is no difference in the hours. Always shut up in a prison to be stung by mosquitoes. And then Tweddell told me I should be a little Eastern Queen. Oh, if I could go back this last year.” She was dressed up to the last pitch of the last number of the _Journal de Modes_, which, poor girl, will not be of much use at Barrackpore, where the officers are too poor even to dine with each other; and I own, I think Tweddell has a great deal to answer for, and _is_ answering for his sins in a wearisome life. But to the by-standers who have not seen a fresh English girl nor a hearty English aversion for some years, she was an amusing incident.

Did you know much of Lord Jocelyn[483] at home? He has seen his Agra and Delhi since he left us, is now doing a bit of tiger-shooting, and then is coming down as fast as he can to join this Chinese expedition. His regiment does not go, but George has got Captain Bethune to take him as a guest. I think I should like to go marauding to Canton. We found at Calcutta a box of bronze curiosities, etc., that we had ordered before this little painful misunderstanding with Lin, etc., and they give a great idea of what might be picked up by an experienced plunderer. Yours ever,

E. EDEN.

_Miss Eden to Mr. C. Greville._

BARRACKPORE, _Sunday, April 19, 1840_.

MY DEAR MR. GREVILLE, The March overland is just come in, and they say that if we send an express to Calcutta, to overtake the _other_ express which was going off with George’s despatches this afternoon, everything will come straight at Bombay. In my own mind I see nothing but a long train of innocent Bengalese running after each other, each with a letter in his hand, the thermometer at 150, and the head man of the train waving the small quantity of muslin he deigns to wear to a distant puff of smoke in the Bay of Bengal.

However, as our friendship has had such a frightful _secousse_ and wants steadying, I pay you every possible little attention, so I write this hurried line to say that the few letters which have yet arrived, and two stray papers, all speak in the highest tones of The Book, and of its success, and how well it is got up, and we are longing for a copy of it, and George is politically at ease from its being spoken of as a _personal_ narrative, and altogether it seems like an amusing incident. William is full of gratitude for all the trouble you have taken about it.

We have subsided from the interests of Afghan politics into the daily difficulties of keeping ourselves from being baked alive. I may say we have _risen_ to this higher pursuit, for it is much the more important of the two, and of much more difficult achievement. China promises to be amusing; they are arming themselves and fitting up little innocent American ships, and collecting war junks; and my own belief is that they are so conceited and so astucious that they will contrive some odd way of blowing up all our 74’s with blue and red fireworks, take all our sailors and soldiers prisoners, and teach them to cut out ivory hollow balls.

Lord Jocelyn is staying with us, but will sail in about ten days in the _Conway_. He goes merely as a volunteer with representatives of the Dragoons, and George has arranged that he is to be passed into any ship that is likely to see most service. He has great merit in the ardour with which he looks about for information and for service, and I hope the Chinese will not take him prisoner.

So the dear little Queen is now Mrs. A. C. I hope she will be happy; and they may say what they like of her, but she certainly contrives to conduct herself wonderfully, through a great many trying ceremonies,--never awkward, and yet just shy enough, and I like her so for being so affectionate to Aunt Adelaide.

Pray tell Mrs. Drummond I have had her letter and Theresa’s journal, much to my heart’s content, and I would have written her another line, but I am horrified at the price of letters. Not but what I guessed my journal would cost a great deal too much--but £2. 8. 0! I am horrified in the English sense. Here that would be dog cheap--24 rupees. I never speak to anybody for less.

The long hand of my watch caught in the other, and the watchmaker charged 20 rupees for bending it up a hair’s breadth. But still, £2. 8. 0 for a letter! I flatter myself your office pays for this. Good-bye. Ever yours,

E. EDEN.

_Miss E. Eden to Mr. C. Greville._

CALCUTTA, _July 6, 1840_.

_My dear Mr. Greville_, At last a copy of _The Court and Camp_ has reached Calcutta, and was picked up by an alert Aide-de-Camp, who was in the shop when it arrived. It is immensely well got up, and altogether, I think, a pretty little book, and more of a book than I expected. It is a pity more copies did not come by one ship, for there are quantities bespoken. But in the meanwhile everybody is borrowing this, and they all delight in the introductory chapter, because, of course, not one of them has the least idea of the _history_ of the Sikhs as connected with India, nor of India as connected with anything else, so they are all delighted at learning it so cheaply, and they look upon you as a prodigy of Eastern learning. There are one or two misprints in the book, which do very well for England, but is the sort of thing they will take up here, where their intellects are below mistake par, but just up to a misprint; and I should imagine that the Agra Akbar will wonder at the ignorance of the aristocracy who can call a thermantidote a phermantidote, and that the _Delhi Gazette_, which is courtly, will say it ought to be phermantidote, and that they could give the Greek derivation, only they have no Greek type.

I think you ought to feel a sort of paternal interest in the Sikh dynasty, and would like to know that Kharak Singh[484] still retains the name of King, and Mr. Clerk (the Governor-General’s agent) says that Noormahal’s attentions to his father in public increase in proportion as he deprives him of all power. He says Noormahal all through the Durbar is occupied in wiping the dust from Kharak’s band, when not a particle has settled, or with a Chowry in driving away flies from his father’s hand, which they never approach, and that Kharak, though a fool, is wise enough not to like these demonstrations of tenderness.

The fleet left Singapore for Macao on the 30th May; the fear of bad weather prevented their waiting any longer for Admiral Elliot. William Osborne and Lord Jocelyn seemed very well satisfied with their accommodation in the _Conway_, and were gone on in her. William asked some of the Chinese at Singapore whether their way of making war was like ours, and they said, “Much the same, only more guns and less drum.” He asked what they thought of the steamers, which were, in fact, quite new to them, and they said, “Oh, plenty at Pekin; only little smaller.” I am in a horrid mood of mind at all these requisitions from home that are to keep us here another year; and have turned rank Tory on the spot, and can think of nothing but the quickest means of turning the Ministry out, and then of rushing down to the river-side and beckoning to the first ship. But surely we never shall be kept here. I don’t think the people at home have an idea what a place it is, but they _will_ know hereafter, if they go on behaving so in this life. And as for the idea that any Governor-General is to stay till everything is quite quiet and peaceable in this great continent, you might as well ask the fish to stay in the frying-pan till they have put out the fire.

There always must be some great piece of work in hand here. In the meantime, life is passing and friends are dying, and we are becoming so old that it will be impossible to take up the thread of existence again with the young things like the Drummonds, etc., whom I had looked upon as the supports of my old age. It will never do to stay.

We are to have at dinner to-day a son of Theodore Hook’s, just arrived. He does not look as if he could improvise, or do much better if he _provised_; but I never saw the father, so he may look stupid, too, without being so. I see there are two of T. Hook’s novels published lately, and trust the son may have partially brought them out.[485]

I have become a great whist player upon the one-eyed monarch principle. Nobody else can play at all, and when the Governor-General and the Commander-in-Chief dine together, it is obvious that they must have their rubber, and so I and the Aide-de-Camp or the Doctor play with them. Can’t you see the sort of thing? Shocking whist, but it helps the evening through. I play much better than Sir Jasper,[486] but worse, George says, than anybody else he ever saw. Ever yours,

E. EDEN.

_Miss Eden to Lady Campbell._

CALCUTTA, _July 17, 1840_.

MY DEAREST PAM, Your friend Mr. Taylor arrived this week with the letter you gave him ten months ago--perhaps not bad travelling for a letter of introduction, though not exactly rapid as a means of receiving intelligence. However, a letter’s a letter, and I am the last person in the world to complain.

George has seen your Taylor, and says he is very promising, and I have asked him to Barrackpore for love of you and in the strongest reliance on your Edward’s[487] judgment. Otherwise, there _is_ a brother of his in this country now (thank goodness up the country) that used to drive me demented--just the opposite to all you say of your friend--not good-looking, not a “chap” at all, and rather a black sheep--though, poor man, I should not say so. But you cannot imagine the provocation of his manner or the excess of his conceit. It induced a freezing sort of snappishness in oneself that was, however, utterly unavailing; it only made him more affable and jocose. And, to crown all, he shaved his head after a fever, or his doctor shaved it to tease him, or something of that sort, and he came dancing about in a little velvet skull-cap.

I think my health has been so good this year at Calcutta because Pearce Taylor was not there.

No, dearest, I never blame you for not writing. I always feel that I know you just the same as ever, and that it is not your fault if your children take up all your time. I only regret that the world should be such a very large, thick, slice of bread, and that butter should be so scarce that they should have been obliged to spread us at the two opposite ends. We should have been much happier in the same butter-boat, but I suppose it could not be helped. My side of the bread too, is turned to the fire and I am half-roasted, which, if I do not write twice to your once, is my _set off_ against the claims of your children.

I have always wondered how much you liked Mrs. Fane. You mentioned her in one letter as liking her very much, and she is a good-natured little woman, but not _one of us_, is she, Pam? I think she must have felt Sir Henry’s death.[488] He was always very kind to her in his way, without putting her at her ease.

Our George has done very well in India, has he not? You know we always thought highly of him even in his comical dog days.... Now I think he has done enough, and might as well go home, but none of the people at home will hear of it, and this month’s despatches have made me desperate. Moreover, I cannot stay away another year from Mary and her girls, and fifty others. I do not like anybody here, and if we try to get up a shade more intimacy with any lady, then all the others are cross, and her husband or brother wants something, and that makes a story, and so on.

William Osborne is gone with the China expedition, which is a sad loss to poor Fanny. However, I believe that will be a very short business, and that he will soon be back again. The Chinese have already begun to say they hope there will be much talkee before fightee, which does not promise much fightee. William says that at Singapore they saw quantities of little dogs fattening regularly in coops for the table, and their captain’s steward was looking at them, which gave Lord Jocelyn and himself an alarm about their future dinners.

Your little picture is still such a pleasure to me. Mind you keep like it, that I may know you again. None of the children know me, which is shocking and foolish. Your most affectionate

E. E.

_Lady Campbell to Miss Eden._

DUBLIN, _September 27, 1840_.

Just so my darling. I am rather glad you wrote before you saw the Taylor I sent, for fear he should be a beast in spite of Edward’s good word. Emmy, this other year seems harder to swallow than all the rest. But I will not touch upon it; it is too raw. There has been a talk of our asking for something in India; I thought it just probable that we might pass each other at sea! However, we should have to leave so many children they said it would not pay, and I could have hugged them. One man I can scarce bear to look at who put it into Sir Guy’s head at first, and how much we were to lay by, and how charming the climate was, and how I should marry my daughters!

Yes, Sir Guy’s Fanny is married and very happy. Captain Harvey[489] is a very handsome, nice person; they have not much money at present, but that cannot be helped. Pam[490] has been with her for the last month at Carlisle, where Fanny is quartered. Pam was very ill with ague, so I sent her to the Napiers. She comes back to me next week. I long to show her to you--not for the beauty, for she is no beauty, tho’ nice-looking. But, Emmy, she is quite, quite one of us--I need not explain how pleasant, how good, how full of sense and fun. She is such a comfort to me.

The next, Georgina,[491] is very pretty and very dear, but not so gentle and patient as Pam.

I had my sailor boy for two blessed months. This boy, Guy,[492] came home so improved, so gentle and affectionate, and delightful from sea. I felt so thankful, as I rather feared the sea. It is a dreadful life to be the mother of a sailor; so hard to bear. Wind always to me was a sad sound, but now I can hardly help crying. All the rest are good little nice things, and I have no governess, so I have a good deal of their company more or less. We are quaking for the Brevet, but I will not entertain you with my hopes and fears, and want of pence, or what you call _Pice_, don’t you?...

I like Lord Ebrington, and he seems to like you all so much. I get on much better with him than with Lord Normanby. However, he does not give dinners and balls and parties enough, and the _trade_ complain. Dear Lord Morpeth is coming to dine with me to-day, and won’t we talk of you? He is such a charming person, and my most particular friend. You gave him to me, you know, when you went away. Mary will have told you how we had settled I was to go over and see her. Her girls are so nice, and she herself dearer than ever, and all the better from going out more. For a little while she really ensconced herself inside the high wire nursery fender, and one saw her in the uncomfortable way in which when we were bairns you may remember we used to see the fire, never getting at it enough. I was sorry she gave up poor Grosvenor Place. I like all those old Grosvenors; I could have cried when I looked at No. 30! _Du reste_, I rather like getting old; there is wonderful repose in it; it saves one so much trouble--so much of the work done. I am so glad you are getting fat, so am I, and I combine also the grey hair which you mention George has assumed. I am very grey; fat and grey sounds like an old cat, but what does it signify? when once we meet, how young we shall feel then. Emmy, do you remember your aversion to mittens? My dear, I was in advance of my age. When I wore them, like Bacon and Galileo I appealed to posterity, and posterity made haste, and everybody wears mittens, morning, noon, and night. The only chance you have is, that they will have burnt out before you come back, and my hair too. Everybody _lisse_ and banded, and they little know that George and I were the only two people that wore close heads in our day.

Eleanor, Countess of Buckinghamshire.]

The Lansdownes spent a week here. She is looking well, and in much better spirits, and her countenance so much softer and gentler, that I think her more loveable than I ever knew. I never knew how much I loved her till I was with her in her grief.[493] Louisa[494] looking well for her, and ready to talk and be pleased. Lord Lansdowne rather older. I was wondering what made him look so well and distinguished and conversable, and I found he was set off by Lord Charlemont, who rejoices in a brown natural hair wig, which made Lord Lansdowne in his nice grey hair look quite beautiful.

I have got a nice two-year-old[495] baby just _pour me désennuyer_; such a nice duck! The youngest after six girls. Pam says he is doomed to wear all the old bent bonnets out, and accordingly I found him in the hay with a bonnet on.

_Tuesday, September 20, 1840._

I wrote all this Sunday and I must just add one word. Lord Morpeth dined here early with me and the children, and was to start by the eleven o’clock train to the packet for to sail for England to attend the Cabinet Council, _as we vulgar_ imagine, upon peace or war, _rien que ça_. However, my delicacy was such I did not pump at all. He is a real good soul, and I have scruples about pumping him. Old Berkeley Square I always make a point of pumping till the handle has come off in my hand often, but very little water ever! Yours ever,

PAMELA CAMPBELL.

_Miss Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire._

CALCUTTA, _January 15, 1841_.

MY DEAREST SISTER, After a long cessation all our letters came to hand--all from September to November 4th. You had been doing your _Mimms_, which I never think sounds comfortable. Indeed, I remember seeing the place once and thinking it very melancholy, damp, and dead-leafish.

Yes, as you say, as long as Chance is alive there is a wall between Dandy and death; but then you know spaniels live longer than terriers, and at all events it would be a sort of preparation to Dandy to insinuate to him that Chance has lost his last tooth, which the faithful Jimmund, his servant, has had set in a silver ring.

You have never mentioned that you have a new clergyman of the name of Hazlewood at Greenwich. You never tell _me_ anything in confidence whatever, after so many years; and after all, I don’t see the use of making such a mystery of it. “But I have often observed a little spirit of nonsense and secrecy,” as Mrs. Norris says, about your clergyman, that I would advise you to get rid of. Your Hazlewood (you see I know his real name) is brother to our Captain Hazlewood, commonly called Harum Scarum. Hazlewood Scarum got a letter by this last post saying: “Lady Buckinghamshire, who is a constant attendant at my church, is, I find, a sister of Lord Auckland’s. You cannot imagine how much I wish to make her acquaintance. I think our mutual interests in India,” etc., etc.

Probably by this time you may have seen him. Our Hazlewood is going home next week in the _Hardwick_. The wounds he received at Ghazni[496] were very severe; and he rattles about, and dances and rides, and proposes and breaks off his engagements, and altogether he has never let himself get well, and has suffered so much from his arm lately that his general health is beginning to give way, and Doctor Drummond has ordered him home. A man who goes home on a medical certificate has his passage paid by the liberal Company, and gets £50 a year while he is in England; so that upon the whole a slight wound is not such a bad thing. I am rather on the look-out for a generous adversary who will wound me just up to the pitch of being ordered home, and having my passage paid, but not a bit more. Poor Hazlewood’s is much more than that; but the voyage will probably set him up, though he will never have the use of his arm again. As he will go to Greenwich to see his brother, I have given him a line to you. It will not entail upon you more than a dinner, and he is a very good-humoured, obliging creature, and not at all vulgar. There is not the slightest chance of his spoiling the view at Eastcombe by setting that little wretched stream the Thames on fire; though I have no doubt he will try, as he always must be busy about something. He may give you a flourishing account of us, as we are all going on very well, I think.

The Admiral[497] has made a shocking mess of China--at least he has done nothing, and the force and the ships and the money have all been wasted, leaving things just as they were a year ago. Now he has given up the Command, writing most pitiable accounts of his being in a dying state from disease of the heart, with no chance of reaching home alive; and for the last ten days we have been believing this and pitying and defending him. And now to-day George has a letter from him, written on board his son’s ship, saying they were all on the way home; that he thought he had mistaken his complaint, which was now merely liver, and that he felt nearly well again. It is an unhappy bit of his career, and such weakness is rather odd in such a stern, stiff-looking man as G. Elliot.

Charles[498] is now left sole Plenipotentiary, and if he can but keep to his own mind two days running is clever enough to do very well; but he is terribly vacillating. She wishes very much that she was with him just now, and I can fancy she might be of use in keeping him up to the mark; but she cannot go during the present monsoon, and except for the pleasure of seeing Charles again, I think she will be very sorry to leave Calcutta. Ever your most affectionate

E. E.

_Miss Eden to Mr. C. Greville._

CALCUTTA, _January 17, 1841_.

MY DEAR MR. GREVILLE, I am grieved you were so troubled with the gout when you wrote, as I have never been of the opinion that a fit of gout is a matter of that perfect indifference which people who are not sufferers from it claim to assert. I think you had better come out as Lord Auckland’s successor, if you cannot come and visit us. Nobody has the gout in India. I suppose it is _perspired_ out of them. And even General Elphinstone,[499] who was a wretched victim to it when we met him going up to Meerut--almost the worst I ever saw--has, I hear, lost it quite during the hot season. He is going to succeed Sir W. Cotton[500] in Afghanistan, and does not like it on account of the cold climate.... Ever yours most truly,

E. E.

_Miss Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire._

BARRACKPORE, _February 6, 1841_.

MY DEAREST SISTER, I am just come back from doing a bit of duty, so I may as well try whether writing to you will not be a bit of pleasure in this dark half-hour before dressing.

The little Nawâb of Moorshedabad has anchored his fleet of boats just in front of this house, on his way up the river home. He is the convoy of the late lamented Captain Showers, who has gone and married himself to a very plain, unpleasant young lady, and has consequently left us, and George has given him the care of this boy’s education. George took the little Nawâb a drive, and I have been, with Rosina[501] as an interpreter, to see the Begum in her Pinnace, and it strikes me that it is very lucky I was not born a Mussulmannee. I am sure if they shut me up in that fashion I should have got into a thousand scrapes, and probably some very bad ones; and moreover, I should have gone out of my mind with bore and heat. She was in the centre cabin of the Pinnace, with three or four antechambers made of curtains, so arranged that there was no possibility of her being seen when one was opened. All the jalousies of the cabin were shut, and it was so dreadfully hot that I was obliged to ask for a breath of air; and then there was such a fuss: Captain Macintosh and the boats that brought my servants requested to keep off--sentries on deck thrown into a fuss--and then when a fishing-boat came by, such a rush to shut up one wretched bit of blind which nobody could see through--and if they had, I think they would have been very much disappointed. “I am not the lovely girl I was,” and the Begum, though rather pretty, is so extremely small I don’t think they could see her at all without a glass. Her women were shut up in another dark cabin, and her visible attendants were all of that class (saving your presence) who are allowed to wait on Eastern ladies.

Visits to native ladies are much more amusing when I go with Rosina, than when there is a stiff secretary translating from the other side of the punkah. The Begum was delighted with some English flowers that I took her, and began asking Rosina about England, and amongst other things, she and her attendants having ascertained that it was really true that we walked out in London, wanted very much to know if we did not wear veils and loose trousers on those occasions. Rosina made them all laugh very much, and the Begum gave her £5 when we went away. I should think a laugh must be cheap at the money. I am quite sure I should have gone wrong, particularly wrong, if I had been one of these shut-up ladies, out of mere spite. It might have been difficult to contrive it, but I think I should have been a very profligate Begum. They say this little lady was. Now she is not more than twenty-six, and having lost her husband has lost her power, and is under the control of a strict mother-in-law, and her chief occupation is to _cook_ for her son. She never lets anybody else cook for him for fear he should be poisoned.

CALCUTTA, _February 9, 1841_.

No more decisive news from China. Charles Elliot still goes on negotiating--or as the people there call it, _no_-gotiating. The navy, army, and merchants are all equally dissatisfied. By the last letter, he declared Sir Gordon Bremer[502] was to attack the Bogue forts the next day if the Chinese did not sign the treaty, but he has said so so often that nobody will believe it till they see it, and even when they do it is impossible not to regret that it was not done a year ago. Mrs. Elliot has rather a hard time of it, I fancy, as the society here is chiefly mercantile, and they all consider themselves ruined by all this weakness and procrastination, and the papers, too, are full of abuse. She bears it better than most people would, but fidgets about his vacillation, I suspect. She talks of sailing in about ten days.... This day twelve month how sea-sick I hope to be. Yr. most aff.

E. E.

_Miss Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire._

CALCUTTA, _April 6, 1841_.

MY DEAREST SISTER, I did not write to you last month. I daresay you never found it out, only I am so honest I tell. But I had a large arrear of friends to bring up, and as Fanny said she had written you a double letter, I thought you would not miss me if “I just stepped out for a bit.”

I am sure you would pity me at this moment. Just fancy yourself trying to be fond of Dandy’s successor, and in the still lower position of finding that successor refusing obstinately to be fond of you. As for ever caring for a dog as I did for poor dear Chance, the thing is impossible. I do not believe there ever was so clever a dog, and very few equally clever men; and then, after eight years of such a rambling life, we have had so many recollections in common, and he was such a well-known character in India. I had no great fancy to have another; but we are alone so many hours of the day that a pet is almost a necessity, and a Doctor Young, who is just come from England, hearing I had lost Chance, very politely sent me a little English spaniel he had brought with him.

The gentlemen all say it is a perfect beauty, with immense ears, and a short nose, and all the right things. It may be so; unluckily it is not even the kind of beauty I admire, and in all other respects I think I may safely say I never hated a small dumb beast so much in all my life. It is wild and riotous and foolish, and whines after its old master half the day; or else runs off like a mad thing, and the servants, who cannot pronounce its name, Duke, are streaming about the house after it, calling Juck, Juck! That name is its only merit. I suppose nobody ever had a dog called Juck before. Everybody says it will grow tame, but I know better. I have had it eight days, and I think in another week it will be lawful to return it to Doctor Young, and say I cannot deprive him of it--such a treasure, such a Juck!

Your account of Dandy barking at the Southwark police particularly amused us. Fanny’s dog flies at all the natives who happen to have stepped out without their clothes just in that way, and George longs to murder him for it, as a dog frightens them out of their senses.

We have just had the very Chinese news that George has anticipated all along--indeed, so certainly, that two months ago he luckily sent his own orders to stop all of the convoy and fleet that C. Elliot had not dispersed. The Emperor would not even listen to that treaty, bad as it was, so now it is a declared war, and the Bogue forts have been taken, which was easily done, as the garrison all ran without firing a shot.

That was what George advised, and indeed ordered as far as he could ten months ago, when the expedition started in full strength. Now the ships are half-dispersed, half-crippled, and an immense proportion of the soldiers dead or disabled, and it is evident that Charles[503] now does not know what to do. In the meanwhile, in his odd mad way, he had sent orders to have Chusan evacuated without waiting for a ratification of the treaty, and he has been obliged to withdraw the few soldiers that had garrisoned Hong Kong, his great hobby of an acquisition, because they were wanted on board ship. So we literally have not an inch of ground or a single thing gained by all this immense expenditure. The Chinese actually ordered us out of Chusan before they would give up one of their few prisoners, and we obeyed. The sort of fun they must make of us.

I have had a line from Mrs. Elliot, who met the news at Singapore and was much out of spirits. But George has not yet heard from Charles. It is lucky he is what he is, totally blind to his own folly, for I am sure half the men in his position would be driven to some act of desperation.

_April 14._

No more tidings from Charles Elliot. William is gone off on a tiger-hunting expedition with a Mr. Larpent. It is a dreadfully hot time of the year for this sort of work, but I believe tiger-shooting is that degree of exquisite pleasure that makes up for all inconveniences, and the mere idea did him a great deal of good. He has been in one of his _meandering_ states of spirits ever since the excitement of the races were over, living very much alone and looking utterly broken-hearted; but this new excitement has roused him again, and he went off quite happy with the thermometer at about 95, I suppose, out of doors.

Juck has subsided a little, but is a positive misery, and very uninteresting. I am getting on very fast with a collection of drawings and flowers, those that are not common in England. I sketch them and put in the colours, and I have hired two natives by the month who sit in the passage and paint them. I think you would rather like to see them (the drawings, not the natives), but I know what you will say--Very pretty, my dear, but they are all red and yellow. You must have had a sad want of blue flowers,--and I don’t exactly know how I can contradict you. Some of the parasite plants, tho’, are very beautiful. I have been gradually making a new garden in front of the house, rather in the large round chumpy line, but the size of the house requires that bold style, and by the time we go it will be very pretty, and quite ready to be destroyed by the next Lady.

Lady Amherst[504] made a magnificent garden all round the house, which stands in the centre of what we call a huge compound. Lady William[505] [Bentinck] said flowers were very unwholesome, and had everything rooted out the first week. I never thought of restoring it till last year, and now it is all done very economically, and only on one side of the house, and at a considerable distance, so that the doctors can’t have the conscience to object, etc. I am just finishing two little fish ponds.

All the bamboo fences will be covered with creepers after the next rains, and then, as I said, the next lady may pull them all up, and let the ground lie fallow for her successor, and so on. Whatever she may think of the garden, I am sure she ought to be obliged to me for clearing up the house. It was all left in such an untidy state. You must recollect those old looking-glasses that had been put in the ball-room by Lord Wellesley. I think they must have lost all their quicksilver when Lord Wellesley was a little boy. I sent them all to the auction last month, as we are not up to re-silvering glass in India, and they actually fetched £400; and with that I am going to have the ball-room gilt in a very elaborate manner, and I think it will be a great improvement.

We have lost Captain Hill, who succeeded Major Byrne in the management of the house and its expenses, whether ours, or the Company’s. He was taken so alarming ill that he was obliged to go off to the Hills, nominally on sick leave, but I fear there is no chance of his returning. And it was all so sudden that he had no time to instruct his successor. However, Gales is a very efficient House Steward, and I am carefully educating Captain Macintosh in the Company’s interests. It often strikes me that a very extravagant Governor-General might puzzle the Directors very much; he can order any expense whatever, and as it is, the establishment is enormous. Of course they can recall him when his accounts go home, but there is nobody to check him here.

They say Lord Elphinstone has been in a horrible scrape with them for his Durbar expenses--money spent on his house and furniture. They ought to think highly of my little looking-glass economy, and if they would send us out just a dozen very large looking-glasses, etc. However, I am going home, at least I hope so. I expect this will find you under a Tory Government--wretched, ill-governed creatures! The last hope of elections seems fatal, and China news will be a good grievance to have the Government out upon. I wish our successor were named. It is quite time he should be, as George wishes to see him here before we go. Do name him at once.

Ever, dearest Sister, your most affectionate

E. E.

_Miss Eden to her Brother, Robert Eden._

CALCUTTA, _April 12, 1841_.

MY DEAREST ROBERT, There is no particular good news to send you this time, though nothing much the reverse from India; but I think if the Opposition did not take advantage of C. Elliot’s first absurd peace, they may turn the Ministry out on finding it is no peace at all, and that, moreover, he has not left himself the means of carrying on a war. There never was such a man, if he were not a positive fool. I really think he would go mad when he looks back on all he has done this year. The last act of giving up Chusan, without waiting to see if the Emperor would ratify the treaty, is the crown to all his absurdity. We have not a foot of land left of their territory, and they actually ordered the last soldier out of Chusan before they would give up their few prisoners. Everybody wonders what will be the next news. Probably, that he will prevent Sir Gordon Bremer from taking Canton, for fear it should hurt the feelings of the Chinese, and the Emperor will probably send down orders that our sailors are to wear long tails and broad hats, wink their eyes, and fan themselves, and C. Elliot will try to teach them. I don’t think my national pride ever was so much hurt.

Everybody is curious to know what the orders from home are. I have a horrible fright that if the Whigs are still in, they will send out full powers to George to take the business in hand. That _might_ interfere with our going home, which would be much more distressing than any national offence, and also it would be very inconvenient to him just now.

The Punjâb remains so unsettled that all the spare troops are obliged to be kept on that frontier; and then Major Todd[506] has brought Herat into a mess, and though I think that is nearer to you than to us, it makes great difficulties in this direction. Then Singh and his army cannot get on at all. Runjeet’s death has been so like the death of Alexander, and of half those great conquerors in ancient history that we used to read about, and believe in. His army was a very fine thing, and his kingdom a good kingdom while he was there to keep his one eye upon them, but the instant he died it all fell into confusion, and his soldiers have now murdered all their French (I began on a half sheet by mistake) and English officers, and are marauding wildly all over the country. It is not actually any business of ours, but it interrupts our communications with Afghanistan; and, in short, it is obvious that it might at last furnish one of those pretences for interference England delights in, and when once we begin I know (don’t you?) what becomes of the country we assist--swallowed up whole.

Anyhow, I wish you would bestir yourself about our successor. It is high time he should be named; moreover, my stock of gloves is exhausted, so at all events I must come home. Do you think you could buy me instantly from Fownes a dozen of long white gloves, ditto of short, and send them off by some ship that is actually in full sail, not lying in that dockyard where Grindlay locks up all the ships.

I suppose Fanny has given you most of our private history, so I have given you this little touch of our public history. William is gone tiger-shooting. Our new doctor is, I think, a very remarkable boxer, and does not suit George at all. However, he is a good-natured man, and if he would leave off cutting little melancholy jokes and making a face like a rabbit when he laughs at them, and if he would not ask such a quantity of small questions, there would be no harm in him. Your affectionate

E. E.

_Miss Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire._

CALCUTTA, _May 6, 1841_.

MY DEAREST SISTER, Fanny means to write to you a line herself before the post goes, and indeed may probably be strong again before the express starts; but in the meanwhile I may as well begin a regular letter, as she will not be able to do much. I am convinced we are all many hundred years old, and barring that I have lost my hair, and my teeth, and my eyesight, and I rather think my hearing, and am quite yellow and probably stoop a little, I am very juvenile, and I must own never had such good health in my life.

Between ourselves, our doctor is a perfect calamity, and George had nearly yesterday made up his mind to get rid of him, but it would be a strong measure. He has taken all the pains he could about Fanny, but he is evidently an ignorant man on the subject of medicine, which is a little unlucky for a doctor, and in other respects the greatest bore I ever encountered--a sort of thing that makes one wag one’s ears and stamp, he is so tiresome and slow.

What has knocked him up with George is his treatment of the natives. Nothing will induce him to take the slightest charge of the servants and their families, and he and I came to a grand blow up on the subject yesterday about a boy who had been bit by a mad dog. George wanted to get rid of him on the spot, but I thought it would be supposed he had been sent away on account of Fanny’s protracted illness, which would be ruin to him in his profession, and it must wait. But Macintosh added up the case as it really stands: “The man is a brute to the natives, and I am very glad that I have hated him ever since he entered the house, and we all do the same.”

Yesterday we sent for old Doctor Nicolson, the Sir H. Halford of Calcutta, whom everybody abuses and yet they all send for him, and the other doctors mind every word he says. I have no faith in him myself, except perhaps in these Indian cases, which he has seen enough of the last forty years, and at all events he has put Fanny in better spirits about herself.

Certainly the body is quite as inconsistent as the mind. I remember laughing so the first two years at people going out, even in the cold weather, with shawls on, and thinking it affectation. All the last week I have dined with two shawls on, and George with his great cloth cloak, and both of us declaring the evenings were delicious, only too chilly. I imagine the kitchen at Eastcombe would be an ice-pit in comparison. Last night at cards I asked Captain Macintosh if he had any return of ague, and he said no, but that he and Captain Hollyer were both so dreadfully cold they wanted to have the jalousies shut. The thermometer was at 79, but I was quite as shivery as they were. I hope we shall brace ourselves up on the voyage home, otherwise you will think us very tiresome and fusty.

I still think my new dog a great bore, thank you. I knew you were going to ask, and I do not suppose I am capable of an infidelity to Chance’s memory, for everybody says this is a perfect treasure. I have had the promise of another, more after Chance’s pattern, but it is ill, and as dogs always die in this country as soon as they are ill, it never may reach me. But, in the meanwhile, I am not obliged to attach myself to Juck. Your most affectionate

E. E.

_Miss Eden to the Countess of Buckinghamshire._

CALCUTTA, _June 1, 1841._

MY DEAREST SISTER, You can hardly have the cruelty to expect a poor creature to write after three weeks of the most desperate weather ever felt in India, and no signs of a change. Even the natives are completely beat by it. The Baboos say they can’t write, and the tailors can’t sew, and I see the man who is pulling the punkah has a large fan in the other hand with which he is fanning himself. Even George owns to falling asleep over his work; and then the evenings are so hot we cannot drive, which is unwholesome for him. Under these circumstances it is rather difficult to write.

Fanny left a letter for you before she went. They have been gone a week to-day, and therefore ought to be at Singapore to-morrow. I heard from her on Wednesday evening when the pilot left them, just gone to sea, and she said she felt better, though the heat had been dreadful in the river, and that it was the quietest ship she had ever been in, and that William [Osborne] was very contented, etc.; and Sir Gordon wrote word she was in excellent spirits. If they find a ship ready to start from Singapore they may be back in less than five weeks, and at all events in six, and I am sure they will have had a blessed miss of any part of this month. I rather hope they will make a week’s more delay, and go and see Penang when they are about it. Everybody says it is so beautiful.